Returning to You
by StarFormerAdira
Summary: Arthur always thought he was free before, but someone just happened to come along and change that - and it didn't help that he carried enough charm to take away his entire will. A birthday present - pirate!England x pirate!Spain.


**A/N: This is a request from for a friend from Sesi Braginskaya – a lovely reviewer of My Only Weakness. The friend is Siku and it's her birthday today, so happy birthday to you! She requested pirate!England x pirate!Spain and I did my best. I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

**Returning To You**

Captain Arthur Kirkland was the terror of the seven seas. He was a ruthless murderer. He was a limitless stealer. The lengths to which he would go to obtain something he wanted had not yet been discovered, and probably never would. He was cold-hearted, and anyone who disregarded his name bitterly regretted it later. He had everything.

_Then why do I want you so much?_

He terrorized countless towns, and set his bloodthirsty crew on the citizens, leaving them to pillage and burn whatever property they wished. He could not be caught. He was a ghost in the night, a spectre of darkness that could not be touched. Everyone who tried had failed, dragging themselves back home with the laughter of the sadistic pirate ringing in their ears. Humiliation. That was his forte. He was a master.

_Then why do you always manage to humiliate _me_?_

The legends about him were never-ending. He had toppled an empire with a single gunshot, he had stolen royal jewels from the other side of the world, he had bested an army in a fight to the death, and he wore his battle scars proudly, like they were marks of his identification. He was both infamous and famous at the same time.

Another rumour, however, surrounded his image like a fog.

A man. A man, dark-haired, olive-skinned, whom he always returned to, bearing the treasures and gifts of his adventures. No-one had ever heard of this man, this one being who had captured the captain's heart, but they all knew that he was a pirate too. A foreigner, a mercenary perhaps, but with his own chain of command, his own ship. He used to be second only to Arthur in his efficiency of robbing countries of their gold. But now he was hardly ever seen. Now, _Arthur _reported to _him_.

Gossip spread like wildfire. A Spaniard, they said, those who had seen him, with a smooth, sultry voice and green eyes like a sorcerer's. Antonio, they said he was called, strong, intelligent, handsome. And the occupants of the towns hung around the seafront for days and nights on end, hoping to catch a glimpse of a ship on the horizon, so they could daydream about it and tell their neighbours that they had seen pirates, and barely escaped with their lives.

Antonio and Arthur, however, remained in the shadows, and a person only saw them because they wanted it so.

_Why do you have me on such a long leash?_

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The night was clear, a cool breeze rustling the sails, propelling the ship forwards through the murky water. On any other night, perhaps, Arthur might've ordered an attack, told his crewmembers to illuminate the dark with burning torches, but he couldn't. It was the perfect time, but not the perfect location. The ship was halfway across the Atlantic Ocean, and there was nothing but sea for miles around. This was how Antonio liked it, though – quiet, peaceful and alone – and Arthur was in no position to argue.

His steps were quiet as he descended the wooden stairs, warmth from the lower decks rising up to greet him. The corridors were lit only by a few lanterns, and the flickering shadows on the wall would've caused anyone else to turn and wait until daylight. Not Arthur, though. He strode through them like he was their ruler, and knocked harshly on the door beyond.

He didn't wait for admittance. His entrance was bold, dramatic and loud, but Captain Antonio Carriedo only raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Arthur was radiating anger, and his eyes were glowing, with blue sparks dancing at his fingertips, but he would never raise a hand to Antonio, and the other man knew it.

"You're an idiot!" Arthur snarled, an accusation that had fallen on Antonio's ears many times before.

The Spaniard sighed. "Tell me something I don't know."

Arthur strode forwards, his coat billowing around him. "I had everything planned for an assault on La Rochelle and you tell the crew to turn around and head for America! Explain yourself!"

Antonio looked up at the Englishman through lazy, half-lidded eyes, and reached up, running a rough finger across Arthur's cheek. "_Mi querido, _don't argue with me. I promise we'll return for La Rochelle."

Arthur seethed. "I want La Rochelle _now_! Francis is getting more irritating as the year goes on! I want to teach him a lesso –"

His tirade was cut short as Antonio's wandering hand tightened around his collar and yanked him down to the same level as him. Arthur's knees hit the unforgiving wood of the floor and he hissed in pain and mortification. Antonio stared down at him, one hand still tangled in his shirt.

"Francis can wait a few days," he said, watching Arthur's fists clench. "I thought you would enjoy a visit to Alfred."

"That bastard?" Arthur snorted, his audible English accent becoming thicker as he started on the American. "The only reason I'd enjoy a visit to him would be if I was taking him back to my empire. Just an insignificant village on the coast isn't going to do much, love."

The unintentional title had slipped out before Arthur could snap his jaw shut, and he flushed under the candlelight as the word hovered around the two of them. Antonio leant back in his chair, satisfied, and began absent-mindedly running his fingers through Arthur's blonde hair.

"_Amor_," he murmured dreamily in his own language. "It's been a long time since you called me that."

Arthur's rage and feeling of injustice fled like men before a ghost and he raised himself up, still on his knees, eager to pacify Antonio. If he went one insult or one rejection too far, Antonio could make the simple decision to pack his things, call back his ship, and leave Arthur's life forever. Antonio was slippery. He was not easy to catch – the reason he'd survived as a pirate for so long. It had taken Arthur years to track him down, but it had taken one second for him to fall in love. He was desperate to keep Antonio, to prevent the heartbreak and despair that would set upon him like the plague if the dark-haired man disappeared and chose not to see him again.

He'd sacrificed so much to keep Antonio by his side. They travelled together now, but if Arthur wasn't careful, this dream could shatter, and he'd be left to pick up the pieces and cut his hands on their jagged edge.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and to anyone else, it would've been poisoned with sarcasm and hatred, but to Antonio, it was the words of a lover. "I'll start calling you love again, I promise. I've been distracted. La Rochelle...is not important. Let's go to America, let's see Alfred. Anything."

He watched Antonio's face carefully, following each movement with his clear emerald eyes, his mouth parted with the depth of his emotion.

Antonio slid out of his chair and onto the floor, his body pressed against Arthur's with one heated movement. His arms slid around Arthur's waist and he leant forwards, his lips brushing against his partner's, their breath warming in the limited space between them. Arthur's heartbeat increased to a hundred miles per hour and he leaned forwards hopefully, the heady, familiar smell of Antonio surrounding him. Their kisses were hesitant, clumsy, but it just made the experience all the more exquisite – the fumbling delicacy that both of them shared. Arthur reached up and cradled Antonio's head, stroking his neck, pulling him closer.

His hand slipped under the Spaniard's shirt, caressing his skin and letting his palm graze against the muscle. Antonio responded by giving a small, shivery moan and resuming his assault on Arthur's mouth, his arms wrapped around Arthur's neck, keeping him in place. As Arthur began to pull the other man's shirt free of his trousers, Antonio pulled away, tilting his head back as the blonde-haired pirate continued to mouth at his neck.

"We can go to America?" he breathed, the ministrations at his throat making his voice falter regularly. "Is that okay?"

Arthur smirked and let his teeth rove down to Antonio's shoulder. "Of course it's okay, love," he murmured huskily, sending a shiver of longing and arousal down Antonio's spine. The dark-skinned man automatically pressed closer, seeking more of what Arthur was so willingly giving him.

A few minutes later, their clothes were cast carelessly on the floor, and Arthur had Antonio pinned to the small but wide bed in the corner. It had been built into the wall, and on wild, raging nights when the storm was tossing the ship backwards and forwards, it was a cosy place to curl up and wrap your arms around your lover. However, that was not what was crossing the two occupants' minds at the moment.

Arthur's lips were always somewhere, on Antonio's neck, his cheeks, his chest, while his hands stroked teasing patterns along Antonio's waist. The soft, flickering light from the candles illuminated their intertwined forms and the tangled sheets, already dotted with droplets of sweat from their excursions. Antonio's head was flung back, allowing the Englishman better access to his throat, and his back was arched, both his hands brushing along Arthur's thighs as the other pirate gently rocked back and forth, forcing himself deeper into Antonio.

Sex held an intimacy that neither of them had managed to adapt to just yet. Before they had encountered each other at sword-point, their only partners had been drunken young lieutenants and the occasional pretty woman hanging around in the pub. And even after they _had _crossed each other's paths, sex had been the last thing on their minds. What did this other pirate's ship hold? Gold? Precious jewels? Each captain was only interested in stealing, and what those stolen goods could buy in the nearest town.

The fight, of course, was inevitable. Maybe even the pouring rain could've been expected. Each one of their ship members pitted against their equal in the other crew, swords flashing, screams of pain and the occasional roar of rage. And above it all, Antonio and Arthur duelled like the princes they were, competing for the position of king.

Arthur had expected to win. He was older, more practised, and held a connection with his sword that Antonio couldn't possibly hope to match. But the dark-haired man had surprised him. Antonio fought with the fiery anger of his bloodline and his homeland, startling Arthur with moves he'd never seen before, and eventually cornering him with the tip of his sabre underneath his chin. Arthur had never lost to anyone before. It was why he was still at large. But this being, this man barely out of his teenage years, had managed. And Arthur immediately wanted to know more.

He was in no position to negotiate with a weapon pointed towards him, but to his relief, Antonio showed no indication of moving in for the kill. In his flashing green eyes – the same colour as Arthur's – there was a hint of indecision, shock, even, as if he had never expected to win. So Arthur took a risk, and spoke.

"If you're going to kill me, kill me," he told Antonio, his voice gentle and sympathetic. "If you're not, put the sword down."

Antonio hadn't been on his ship for as long as Arthur had. While the Englishman could've made a decision like that in his sleep, this was the first time Antonio had ever come face to face with it, and he wasn't sure what to do. As he dithered, Arthur moved, quick as lightning, grabbing the sword and pulling it towards him. Antonio stumbled forwards in alarm, his hand still on the hilt, and found himself face to face with his adversary, much too close for comfort. The rain beat down on Arthur's back as he scrutinised the young captain before him. All the fire in Antonio's expression was gone and he now looked like he was seeing his death in those identical emerald eyes above him.

Suddenly, Arthur let out a short, harsh laugh, and pushed Antonio away. Antonio stumbled, still with his sword in hand, and stared at Arthur uncomprehendingly. The Brit smiled at him, his rapier back in its sheath where it belonged.

"I can't kill you," he said with a hint of amusement, shaking his head, sending water everywhere. "You're too handsome."

And it had escalated from there. Unwilling to let Antonio out of his sight, Arthur had ordered the Spanish crew back to their ship but kept Antonio on his, forcing the first mate to tail him wherever he went. At first, Antonio raged against his prison. He attacked Arthur every time he came down to see him and resorted to using the crudest equipment as weapons. Eventually, though, he started to settle down, as it became clear that Arthur was genuinely interested in him. Their first kiss was a memory that Arthur still cherished.

Pirates weren't supposed to fall in love. But it made it all the more passionate when they did.

As Antonio came, he tightened his grip on Arthur, pulling them both off the edge and into the waves of ecstasy that came immediately after. Arthur could feel the intense heat radiating off Antonio's body, they were so close, and he lowered his head, sensually licking the length of Antonio's ear, making the other man groan weakly and turn his head for another kiss. Arthur willingly complied as he gently pulled out, his tongue wrestling with his lover's as he reached down and tugged the sheets over them. Antonio fit perfectly against his body when they were lying on their sides, and Arthur was able to lay his head on the other man's chest and listen to his heartbeat. It was terribly clichéd, but he liked doing it, and Antonio had never protested.

The Spaniard sighed once, already slipping into sleep, and nuzzled the top of Arthur's head. "Two days to America," he murmured softly. "Then we can turn around."

Arthur smiled. Antonio was constantly trying to compromise, thinking that it was necessary in their relationship to keep things stable. "La Rochelle isn't important," Arthur told him. "Wherever you want to go is."

Antonio opened his mouth again to argue, but Arthur reached up and placed a finger over his lips, tangling their legs together. "I know. Now just rest, okay?"

The dark-haired pirate looked like he was about to speak, but the lure of unconsciousness was too strong to resist and he slowly closed his eyes, his breathing becoming slow and deep, a comforting pattern that Arthur loved to listen to.

_You might have me on a leash, but I'd return to you anyway._

THE END

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